


What It Is To Burn

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Suicide Attempt, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I can see the headlights coming.





	What It Is To Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Set anywhere from 2006 to present day. It's versatile, but I would like to put heavy emphasis on the fact that Joe was over 18 when the relationship started.
> 
> Title comes from a song by the band 'Finch'. Said song is called exactly that, while the description is a lyric from Thursday's 'Understanding In A Car Crash'.

From the get-go Joe knew that Pete was kind of a mess in his own right, but then again, he wasn't and definitely still isn't perfect either. He knew that Pete had been in a mental hospital before due to a suicide attempt. He hadn't been out too awfully long when they first hooked up. Joe understood that it wasn't always going to be rainbows in sunshine- fuck, he was an adult then and he's an adult now. 

Taking all of that into consideration still, when Pete said "I'm going to find a way to give you the world." one night early in their relationship as he laid in bed next to him, Joe replied almost immediately with "I don't want the world. I just want you." as he slowly drifted off to sleep in Pete's comforting embrace. 

And when he said that he just wanted Pete, that definitely meant nothing short of his entire self; Joe wanted Pete's best, his worst, his ups and downs, his trauma, his humor, his calming voice reassuring him that it'd be okay the night he had to get a shit ton of rabies shots after that little run-in with a raccoon in the dumpster he decided to dive into for shits and giggles. (even though it was 100% his fault, Pete never once told him that.)

Two years, five months, a couple of major breakdowns, another hospitalization for Pete, moving in together, a couple discussions of marriage and a joint bank account later, Joe assumes that it's safe to say that he's seen all of the above so far- which is exactly why he doesn't think too much about it when Pete storms into their bedroom with a notebook and a pencil- the latter of which he drops on the ground.

Now don't get that wrong- of course Joe's worried about Pete, and of course he's going to do everything in his power to hold him together until whatever storm is going on in his mind passes, it's just that it doesn't seem any different than any of Pete's previous outbursts.

Joe was half asleep, not fully intending on turning in for the night, just taking a nap since he had nothing better to do.

That immediately changed when the pencil hit the floor, though.

"Hey, babe." he mutters as he sits up.

Pete's hyperventilating and staring at the wall. His hair's an absolute mess and as Joe notices, he begins to wonder if he had missed something. "What's wrong?"

"You know what." Pete hisses back, almost as if he's mad at Joe specifically. Shit, maybe he is. "You know exactly what, Joe." Pete hastily rumages through his desk, throwing his notebooks and folders around. 

The ones that hit the floor make loud 'fwap!' noises since the floor in their bedroom is hard vinyl with the look of a hard wood floor. "I'm fucking awful, okay? I'm a terrible writer, I shouldn't even try at this shit."

Pete may only be a hobbyist writer, it may not be his job, and sure, he's never actually published any of his work anywhere to Joe's knowledge, but it's still something he's incredibly passionate about. Most days, it's what he uses to vent out his frustrations about, but when you hit writer's block, it can be hard to put your thoughts into words, even with all of the overflowing inspiration in the world.

"Not true." Joe says, approaching him and picking up the notebooks he caused to hit the floor. "You're better than you think.. You're just overflowing with creativity and talent, even if you don't realize it."

"You have to say that." Pete says through tears as he shoves the pile of notebooks in Joe's hands back onto the floor, falling with them. "You're my boyfriend, and you'd be a bad one if you didn't say shit like that." he opens one up and rips the first page out of it, proceeding to shred it up. "Isn't that right, Joe!?" he yells.

"Yeah." Joe admits, "But that isn't just why I said it! It's 'cause I really mean it."

"You've never actually read my fucking writing." Pete hisses, continuing to shred away at his notebook paper, getting more aggresive as he does so. "You only gaze over it 'cause I ask you to." 

The accusation in Pete's voice hurts. Boy, does it sting. But Joe knows that this isn't about his own feelings at all, and that Pete probably doesn't mean it in the way it sound.

"Okay." he admits as he sits across from his boyfriend's worked-up self. It's always easier to go along with whatever Pete throws at him than to argue. 

Or atleast he thinks that it is. That's the way it usually is, anyway.

"But why not?!" Pete's voice gets louder and angrier as time goes on. His face is rosy red and those tears that have been welling up in his eyes are finally starting to roll down his cheeks. "Is it 'cause I'm terrible at putting words together to form a sentence that makes since?!" he asks hysterically, not giving Joe a chance to respond. "Of course it is! Of course it fucking is! It's obviously because my writing is hard to fucking understand to anyone except for me, and even then, I get cross-eyed!"

"Pete, your sentences are fi-"

"Shut up!" Pete shrieks, cutting his boyfriend off immediately. 

Joe finds himself stuck and completely unable to calm Pete down, which in turn makes him feel like shit. What kind of person can't help their significant other? He's so useless.

"You only say shit to make me feel better, I doubt you even mean it half of the time." Pete starts on another notebook. 

Joe realizes that he's pretty dedicated to it, so maybe, just maybe, if he helped Pete with that, he'd calm down. It isn't really an epiphany, but it's just a consideration that Joe's willing to try. He will try anything to bring Pete down. This can't be good for his health. "You're right." he says quietly, "Do you want me to help you with that?"

"With what?" Pete asks in a much softer tone.

"Shredding your writing.. Y'know.. 'Cause it sucks."

Pete blinks. In this moment, nothing really makes since- he's not even paying attention to what's coming out of his mouth, but whatever he's saying must give Joe the impression that these notebooks need to be shredded, regaurdless of if he's doing it or not.

Does Joe really think his writing is as shitty as he, himself thinks it is?

Atleast he finally admitted to it if that's the case, but Pete's already pretty insecure as it is, how much worse could he feel? 

A lot more, apparently. He was under the impression that Joe might've actually thought he was a decent writer, and as he said that he liked it, Pete was slowly beginning to believe it in his mind, even if his words said otherwise. But apparently not. Apparently he thinks it sucks too.

In Pete's mind, he builds up deep, informative and intricate stories about characters he creates using bits and pieces of people he's known and the physical aspects of strangers who catch his eye during his daily commute while still managing to pour a little bit of himself into each and every one of them. 

But on paper? It's a totally different story. He has so much he wants to explain, but he can never find the perfect way to do so. He'll never be like Hemingway or Poe or any other great writers before him. Shit, he even forgets the difference between hazel and amber sometimes when it comes to describing his fictional characters' eyes. Talk about illiterate. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad because he's incredibly passionate and in love with writing, but the final product is never what he wants it to be. It's let down after let down and he's sick and tired of it. He doesn't even know why he keeps trying.

"So you genuinely think my writing sucks?" he asks with a slight laugh.

Joe's still cornered. Infact, he's backed further into the corner that he's been in for the past ten minutes or so. What's he supposed to say? "My opinion doesn't matter.. If you think it sucks, then that's the way it must be, right?"

Pete's breathing becomes labored once again once he realizes that he's putting Joe between a rock and a hard place right now- somewhere he doesn't deserve to be.

The man across from him has been nothing but supportive and loving towards him for the past two years. He's put him back together, he stuck with him through the whole process of being re-hospitalized, he moved in with him the second he mentioned that he was sick of sleeping alone and though probably irrelevant, he's never told Pete 'no' when it comes to fucking.

Pete can imagine that he's put Joe through absolute hell, but he wouldn't know it because Joe has never once complained about it. 

His heart is racing now as it hits him that he's pretty much been using Joe as his personal crutch for the past two years. Why was he doing that? Why is he like this? 

And now it's crashing down on him that he isn't just a shitty boyfriend, but probably a shitty son too, considering that he's put his parents through the same shit- he's leaned on them time after time to hold him together the way he's leaning on Joe right now without ever showing any appreciation. (that he can think of at the moment. maybe he has.. maybe he isn't too bad..)

But still, it doesn't even stop there- his brother, his sister, his friends... They've all had to be the glue to keep Pete together once or twice. 

He's a ticking time bomb and anyone who's handled him has had the displeasure of him exploding in their hands.

"Oh my God." he whispers.

"What is it?" Joe asks, getting the impression that this is about to get just a little more serious than he expected. Does he need to call 911 or something? What would they do? What is Pete going to do?

"Forget my writing, I'm just a bad person." Pete's on a totally different spiral now. Great. As if his insecurities over his writing weren't bad enough, now he's somehow convinced that he's a bad person as well and it's all because Joe said the wrong thing this time.

"What? No you're not, babe. Okay? I love you because you're the absolute opposite of a bad person."

Pete shakes his head and then grabs both sides, closing his eyes tightly as if his head hurts. 

Joe can imagine that it does as he cautiously moves closer. 

"Pete." he says sternly as he places a hand on Pete's shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern.

"Don't touch me!" Pete snaps almost immediately before getting up and racing out of the room, up the hall.

"Babe, where are you going?!" Joe yells, following him up the hall. 

He doesn't know where this is heading exactly, but he knows it isn't going to be good. He seemed to have underestimated the severity of the situation greatly. "I'm sorry.."

And now Pete's racing out onto the front porch. Joe makes it to the front door before stopping as Pete turns back around to face him.

"You're not a bad person at all, you're-"

"You can stop lying now!" Pete yells hysterically once again. "You can stop lying now... This is the end."

"What end!?" 

Joe fucking freezes. That's it. He just freezes. He's so fucking bad at this that he can't even utter out an 'it's okay' right now because he's just that useless. 

"My end, stupid!" Pete hisses before running out into the middle of the busy highway. "Hit me! I'm not scared!"

Sometimes, Joe overthinks things. The rest of the time, he just doesn't think.

And right now is one of those times. Time is too sensitive for him to stop and think as he races down the front porch steps, nearly tripping off of them, through the front yard and to the road.

When Joe said that he wanted Pete, he meant Pete's best, his worst, his ups and downs, and apparently it also meant Pete's terrified, tear-filled eyes locking with his, illuminated by the headlights of a white Ford pickup truck that sounds it's horn as it slams on the brakes to avoid hitting them as Pete comes down and realizes what he has just done.

Apparently it meant that he wanted Pete's weight leaned up against him as they race across the street, over into the front yard of the vacant house on the opposite side of theirs, and it obviously must have meant that he wanted the dizzy feeling of his own brain rattling around in his skull as he hits the dewey grass with Pete in his arms, alive, safe and seemingly fine physically.

And now, Pete's numb. He can't feel anything as he turns around to face Joe. But still, he knows he has to apologize or something. He just put a lot of lives at risk- the life of the blue eyes staring at him included.

"I'm sorry."

'I'm sorry?' Joe thinks. Is that it? Really? Is an 'I love you' or even a fucking 'Thank you' too much to ask for? 

It's probably selfish to be angry at Pete right now, but he scared Joe half to fucking death.

That doesn't mean he's going to yell at him, though. All he can do is start crying. That's the one thing he hasn't done just yet, or during any other night like this as a matter of fact- he's always kept himself composed. He wasn't the one battling with his mind here. 

Well, he does, but it probably isn't as bad as Pete, who seems to loath every fact about himself. Joe always tries to keep a chin up when things get tough for him personally, but the main thing stopping him from breaking has usually been keeping himself distracted by holding Pete up.

"Stop it." Pete says. "Stop fucking crying, okay? I'm alive, I'm right here, and.." he sighs, pulling Joe closer. "I love you, okay?.."

That's it. That's all Joe needed to hear. That Pete loves him.

"I love you too."


End file.
